In The Stranger's Arms

Feeling like an innkeeper, Pauline removed a folding suitcase stand from the tall wardrobe and set it next to the wood-burning fireplace. Faced in Minton tile, the hearth was bare for the summer behind the brass screen.

“Bathroom’s in there,” she indicated. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here.”

If he expected maid service, too, he was headed for disappointment. This wasn’t a full-service rooming house, and she had neither the time nor the interest in pampering him.

“Right now the carpet would probably seem comfortable,” he muttered, smothering a yawn.

“I’ll bring you up some towels so you can get settled,” she said. She’d forgotten them earlier.

His somber gaze softened into a smile, silver eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. His beard shadow gave him a rakish appearance. “Thanks again,” he said, dismissing her. “Perhaps we can talk more in the morning.”

Pauline was already having major second thoughts about the situation, but it was too late now. She slid her hand into the pocket of her pants, her fingers touching the generous check he’d given her. The moment she had given in to her greed, he’d scrawled a rental agreement on the back of Wallingford’s worthless lease. Dolly, ever helpful, had offered to witness his and Pauline’s signatures.

“I leave for work at nine,” she warned, aware of how small the bedroom seemed with both of them standing in it.

“I’m sure I can manage to be up by then.” His grin displayed his even white teeth. If he had flaws, poor dental hygiene didn’t appear to be one of them.

“Fine.” She was irritated to realize she had been staring for a millisecond too long—and that his smile had widened just enough for her to be sure he had noticed.

Heat scorched her cheeks. “I’ll get those towels.”

It had been several years since Wade had experienced the momentary disorientation from waking up in unfamiliar surroundings. The big difference this morning was that he was alone in the bed.

He lay motionless, staring at the god-awful wallpaper with its blobs of color that reminded him all too clearly of a food fight back in his college frat house. Reality hit him with all the subtlety of the bright sunlight pouring through the drapes he’d forgotten to close before falling face-forward into bed. The last few months hadn’t been a bad dream after all.

He was tempted to squeeze his eyes shut and pretend that he was back in his elegant condo, French doors open to the breeze from the bay and his wife cuddled up beside him.

Ex-wife, he reminded himself, and good riddance to her. It was pointless to hang on to the fantasy of what his life had been; time instead to face the reality of what it had become.

He sat up with a groan, squinting at the mirror-topped dresser on the other wall. “Toto, we’re not in San Francisco anymore,” he muttered wryly, rubbing a hand over his face. Automatically he reached for the expensive watch Sharon had given him, but then he remembered that he’d sold it to a friend for half its value.

Flipping back the covers, he noticed an inexpensive clock radio next to a brass lamp with a fringed shade. If he was going to get downstairs before his landlady’s departure, he’d better get his butt in gear.

He grabbed the shaving kit from his bag, stepped over his dirty clothes and stalked naked into the bathroom. Skidding to a stop, he stared at the old claw-foot monstrosity with disappointment. Tub baths were for kids and dogs.

As he tossed his kit onto the sink counter, he noticed a roomy shower stall behind a glass-block wall.

Hallelujah.

After he allowed the spray head to pummel him awake, he showered and shaved in record time. When he was done, he dug old jeans and a CBGB T-shirt from his bag and shook out the wrinkles.

Moments later he locked the door behind him as a clock from somewhere below chimed the quarter hour. Before he reached the landing, another door opened and out stepped Pauline, wearing a blue dress with a rounded neckline and matching sandals that showed off her long legs. Some kind of clip held back the top of her honey-blond hair, but the rest hung loose, barely brushing her shoulders. She carried a laptop and a purse.

It occurred to Wade that he had no idea whether she worked as an attorney or a stripper. Even though he suspected that she had the body for the latter hidden beneath her outfit, the cut was too conservative and she was way too uptight.

Like a neglected house or an outdated stock portfolio, she had potential, which always intrigued him. The day was looking brighter.

“Good morning,” he called out cheerfully. “It seems that I’m right on time.”

When she turned, the tiny gold hoops in her ears winked in the light. “Did you sleep well?” she asked with a smile that softened her stern expression and stubborn chin. The transformation made him blink.

She had worked some female magic to play up her full lips and thick lashes. The scent of wildflowers—or what he imagined wildflowers would smell like—ensnared him.

“Like I’d been shot in the head,” he replied.

“That’s an image I’ll try to forget.” She gave an exaggerated shudder. “After all that rest, you’re probably ready to get started on my roof.”

“I’m rarin’ to go,” he drawled, realizing that he was famished. He would have to buy breakfast somewhere and then find a grocery store. Assuming he had kitchen privileges, he knew enough about cooking to keep himself fed.

“We can talk over breakfast, which Dolly usually fixes because she likes to cook,” Pauline explained over her shoulder. “Lunch is on your own and dinner is potluck, depending on who’s here and feels like fixing something. Or you can eat on your own, of course, if you’d rather.”

“Sounds fine to me,” he replied. “I’ll be happy to kick in for groceries or go to the store. Just let me know.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” she assured him.

At the bottom of the stairs, she led the way through the archway into the dining room he’d seen last night. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling above a dark wood table surrounded by matching chairs.

He followed her into the kitchen, which, like his bathroom, had obviously been modernized at some point, although the black-and-white-tiled floor looked original. The aromas of coffee and frying bacon made him realize how little he’d eaten in the last couple of days.

His attention went straight to Mrs. Langley, standing at the stove in a flowered apron over her purple sweat suit. On her feet were athletic shoes with fluorescent stripes, but he didn’t care if she wore snowshoes as long as she fed him.

Mouth watering, he echoed Pauline’s greeting.

“Good morning, you two,” their cook responded gaily. “I hope you’re hungry, because I’m making sourdough pancakes.”

“Mrs. Langley, you’ve found my weakness,” Wade replied, patting his empty stomach for emphasis. “I may just have to marry you.”

With a girlish giggle, she waved him away with her spatula. “In that case, you’d better start calling me Dolly.”

She opened the oven door, and Wade had to swallow hard in order to keep from drooling like a dog. “I’ll set the table if you tell me where things are,” he offered. Anything to hurry the process!

“In that drawer and the cupboard above it.” Pauline pointed, then grabbed oven mitts. While he arranged the dishes and silver, she and Dolly brought over the food. He held out Dolly’s chair as Pauline seated herself.

“If you wait, you lose,” Dolly warned him as she reached for the coffeepot. “Help yourself.”

They passed the food and filled their plates, though Pauline skipped the bacon and only took one pancake. It was all Wade could do to not grab everything in sight and cram it into his mouth.

“I must say, you look better than you did last night,” Dolly told him as she stirred sugar into her coffee.

“I feel like a new man,” he replied after he had swallowed his first bite of the best pancakes he’d ever tasted. A few trendy restaurants in Frisco would have killed for the recipe.

“These are fantastic,” he added, reloading his fork.

“It’s the starter,” Pauline replied as she cut her pancake into neat, even pieces. “It was passed down from my grandmother.”

“The what?” he asked blankly. Surely food that old couldn’t be good.

“It’s a mixture of flour, water and yeast,” Dolly explained. “You keep adding to it so that it never runs out.”